


carnations are the loneliest flowers of all

by ignisol



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Feels, Author Aelin Galathynius, F/M, Florist Rowan Whitethorn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15724356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignisol/pseuds/ignisol
Summary: Rowan Whitethorn, a florist, receives a wedding order from his ex-girlfriend, Aelin Ashryver Galathynius





	1. An E-mail

Rowan’s face is in his hands, the headache beginning to form from the bright light of his laptop screen and the dark, damp of the greenhouse/storehouse hybrid in the back of his shop.

He couldn’t believe what his eyes had just read a quarter of an hour ago, still couldn’t believe it. He re-read the email once, trice, thrice before the feeling of dread and heartbreak had sunken into him and finally taken root. 

The order was simple enough. A client had contacted him to ask if he still had the wedding special available. A client would get ten-percent off their wedding’s total cost if they ordered a specific amount of flowers from a pre-determined group. It wasn’t that far out there for someone to call and ask him if the special was still available, as he had only recently removed the sign detailing such a special only a few days ago from his storefront window.

No, none of that was far-fetched what so ever. No, instead it was the name of the sender. A name that has haunted him for the last year, all the way back in January where he had broken her heart and left the pieces in the fallen snow to freeze.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius

Rowan couldn’t breathe. No, Aelin couldn’t be getting married so soon-!

Oh, but she definitely could. There is no doubt in Rowan’s mind there would be a man or woman somewhere that would take one look at Aelin and want to make a wife out of her. With a blazing smile with the power to rival the sun and a fiery personality to match, it was only a matter of time before she would find someone that would treat her well.  
Better than he ever could. 

Rowan groans and his head droops before smacking violently onto the desk; enough to make the few decorative pots to vibrate. The pot of Carnations Aelin had gifted to him whilst she was studying abroad in Paris teeters dangerously towards the edge.

Rowan lunges forward. The palm of his hand braces itself underneath the pot as his gargantuan form slips underneath the pot in order to break its fall. He lands with a resounding plop onto the tiled floor. Next to the planter full of the Amaryllis he had so ordered and planted along with her.  
He remembers that day fondly. 

He knew he wasn’t the typical florist, cutting stems and selling dying flowers to customers. He didn’t do bouquets or other assortments of the like. He’d sell fully plotted, roots intact flora. From large, green houseplants in desperate need of a sunny corner of a diligent person’s home to small, delicate flowers already potted and perfect decoration on a businessman’s desk.

It had been his day off and Aelin had come to the shop, unlocking the back door that leads into the storeroom/greenhouse with the spare key he had given her and made her way up the stairs leading to his apartment on the second floor.

She had barged in, completely unannounced and proud of it. Rowan, feet scrambling for purchase as Aelin’s entrance had caught so completely off guard he had lost his footing and would have gone tumbling to the floor if she hadn’t acted quickly and launched herself forward. Slipping herself underneath his arm and propping him up despite his massive weight.  
it still amazed him that so much strength could exist inside such a compact body. Even though he had, at that point in their relationship, already become well acquainted with every muscle, every inch of smooth, soft skin, every freckle and scar her body had to offer.

She had laughed at him, teasing him about being scared by li’l ole her. He shot back that anyone with half a thought in their head would be scared of her. Rowan remembers her response vividly. She had looked up at him, grinned so widely that the Cheshire Cat himself would be envious and had said,”Good.”

Aelin told him she wanted to do something that day. He remembers rolling his eyes at her antics, saying that if she wanted to do something she should have called ahead and asked him. He foolishly had not cherished what little time with her he had.

She had stuck her lower lip out at him and pouted. With those big, doe eyes and those plump, luscious lips it’s no wonder he caved so easy to her wiles. Giddily, she had grabbed him by his arm and hauled him out of the apartment, down the stairs, into the greenhouse/storeroom and stopped.

She had pointed towards the fresh shipment of Amaryllis seeds he’d ordered.

“That,” she had said to him,”I’m going to Paris soon and you know it, I wanna leave you something here to remember me by!”

And they had gotten to work. Aelin hadn’t shied away from working in the dirt with him, despite his warnings he had given her that her beloved outfit might get dirty or even stained. She had boldly asked him after the fact if he was underestimating her.

rowan shakes himself from his reverie. He finds it poetic that she’d insist on planting some Amaryllis before she left. A flower symbolizing a splendid beauty and worth beyond words was so fitting with Aelin that he can’t help but think fate had a role in this memory. reaching over from his place on the floor, he reads the card Aelin had sent along with the flowers that he hadn’t the heart to remove.

You’re a florist, so you ought to know that Carnations mean ‘I miss you!’ Well, I miss you, Buzzard!  
 - Fireheart

He lifts himself from the cold, hard cement and places the pot of Carnations back upon the corner of his glass desk. He takes his laptop in both hands and makes his way to the stairs that lead up the apartment above.

Why did she do this? Why out of all the flower shops in the city did she have to pick his? Had she merely forgotten? No, she couldn’t have. Not when she knew very well the “Lyria’s Arrangements” wasn’t his to originate with at all. But instead was left to him by his late wife in her will.

Or maybe, just maybe, she was rubbing it in his face. Maybe she was angry with him and wanted to prove that she could survive without him, be happy without him. If this were any other woman aside from Aelin, Rowan would think that the case.

But this wasn’t any other woman but Aelin, this was Aelin. And Aelin wouldn’t have been as cruel as to rub her happiness’ fate in someone else’s face. Not by a long shot.  
No, her finding a love so strong that it made her forget him and how he hurt her was most likely the case. He certainly hoped so.  
He could be professional about this. He could do this. He wouldn’t let his emotions cloud his judgment. He was a professional and all this was, was another clients order he had to fulfill.

Purposefully, he plopped himself onto his couch and begun to write up a response; accepting her request as if she were any other client. 

This was going to be a long order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://solaelin.tumblr.com/post/180663982078/carnations-are-the-loneliest-flowers-of-all)


	2. A Consultation

He’s completely tuned out the panicked voice of the customer standing just beyond the countertop; probably so over-forty husband who forgot his anniversary date and was desperately trying to get the last minute gift. Unable to focus on anything but the email he had received this morning.

Rowan had stayed up half the night. waiting rather desperately for a response to the email. Unsurprisingly, he had been forced to call it a night and head to bed once the grandfather clock in his apartment ticked at three o’clock in the morning. How much more pathetic can one man possibly get?

Apparently, much more. Cause the first thing he did when he got up at six o’clock the next morning wasn’t to immediately jump in a brisk shower as he normally did. It wasn't him grabbing a protein bar for a quick breakfast, either.

No, instead of the first thing Rowan did as soon as he had gotten up was lean over towards his nightstand, gripped his laptop, sat up and checked his e-mail.

No response.

As it should be, Aelin was getting married, after all. She wouldn’t be waiting by her laptop, hoping for a response instead of dead silence. She wouldn’t be mourning a lost relationship. No, Aelin wasn’t like that. She had dreams and aspirations, friends and family who wanted to so her succeed. There was no way she would still be so hung up on him breaking her heart. Not in the same way he was still regretting his decision to end it with her.

He had to stop. What was he doing? He had sworn to himself the night before that he would treat her as he would any other customer. And yet, here he was, fantasizing of what could have been like a love-sick teenager.

It didn’t help that when she finally responded to his email, at noon, she had mentioned she was undecided on what kind of flower she would prefer. He had always assumed that with her taste for luxury, she would have to have some kind of idea of what flowers she wanted.

But as she was undecided, and that had led to her requesting consultation. A service in which he offered. She mentioned in her e-mail that she was free later today if his schedule was open for it. And instead of telling the truth concerning his other clients for the day, he instead scheduled her consultation for four in the afternoon.

And Rowan did wind up canceling the consultation.

Canceling the other client, that is.

Rowan groaned to himself and face-palmed, and the old man gave him a quizzical look., but otherwise continued on his rant about how he needed the biggest, best bouquet that he could conjure up for him.

Rowan, eager to be left alone, just decided to make an arrangement of the most expensive blooms he had. The man, too distracted by his panicking to notice the outrageous price, shoved his credit card in Rowan's face and then left at breakneck speed. 

Rowan figured he would probably get a tongue-lashing from his wife still; only this time it was about spending such an outrageous amount instead of forgetting whatever important date that it was.

Rowan quickly shuffled back to the countertop and took a seat on the wooden stool behind him. Resting his elbows on his knees and allowing his arms to dangle between his long legs, propped on the lowest bar on the stool, he sighed.

He couldn’t believe himself right now. What the hell was wrong with him? It was over, they were over. He shouldn’t be so hung up on Aelin, especially as he was the one who had broken up with her.

If Aelin could get her heart completely and utterly broken and manage to recover and find love again, then what was stopping him?

Everything was. He had panicked when she had asked him that one question. The one the would’ve decided the course they would take for the rest of their lives.

Stuck in his mourning and self-pity, he hadn’t heard the shrill ding of the bell positioned above his shops' entryway. Nor had he noticed the distinct click of high heels against the tile. He didn’t look up when a shadow cast itself over the countertop and thus, over him. 

No, it wasn’t until he heard the woman waiting for his service cough into her hand, obviously attempting to get his attention, that Rowan had decided to look up. Because Rowan had heard that voice before, would be able to recognize it anywhere, even without it speaking a single word.

Without her needing to say a single word.

“Hello, I’m here for my consultation”, Aelin stated, as if there was absolutely nothing wrong with this situation at all. Nothing wrong with him at all.

They say that women become more beautiful with each passing heartbreak, and Rowan had always been a skepticism. But he had to give whoever made that observation first credit where credit was due.

Aelin was stunning.

She was wearing the pine green peacoat he had gotten her the Christmas previous, just days before he had broken her heart. In fact, most of her ensemble were gifts from him. The golden hoop earrings he had bought her that same Christmas. The black leggings and heeled, tan boots were a birthday gift. 

Her hair was pulled up and into a bun, a few stray blonde strands delicately escaping their confines to frame her round face; cheeks obviously flushed with the cold. But her eyes, a beautiful turquoise with a golden ring, were cold. Not even an ember of the fire he had originally fallen in love with.

He should’ve expected this, that Aelin wouldn’t care about him enough to even hate him, despite what he had done. After all, he was just the florist she might or might not hire for her wedding, what right did he have to her time or energy? He didn’t know how he felt about that.

Rowan had instructed her to head in the back-greenhouse whilst he rose from his seat and made his way to the storefront, getting ready to flip the sign from Open to Closed so that no customers would interrupt them. Rowan certainly didn’t mind, after all, there was a reason he had scheduled this for the end of the day. But that wasn’t the only reason.

Perhaps he was a masochist who was more than eager to revel in his own pain.

He sighed and pressed his forehead against the cool glass to cal his nerves, and he knew he looked ridiculous to anyone on the street who would happen to look towards his store and see him through the window. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about what passersby would think.

Shaking himself from himself from his own pity party, Rowan straightens, turns and marches into the back of the store before he can think himself into a sorrowful stupor.

There was no way in hell he was going back his former self, not going back to that horrible life he had forced himself to live after the death of his first wife. He refused.

“Good afternoon, Rowan”, Aelin says, having already taken a seat in the cushioned wicker chair positioned in front of his desk. “I see you took my advice.”

He takes a seat then, avoiding eye contact for as long as he can. As he lowers himself into his seat, he notes her perception skills. “I’m surprised you remember that.”

“Of course I’m going to remember”, she replies, giving her nails a once over, ”I always remember when I’m right.”

Rowan remembers the little argument that they had gotten into when they were first starting their relationship. He had invited her up to his apartment after a very successful date, and he would be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped for something that night.

But while he had turned to lead her up the stairs, she had stopped and begun to pointedly stare at his consultation set up. And thus had begun the argument of how he should buy more comfortable chairs for his customers so that they’d be in a better mood when he was negotiating the bill. he had told her that he wasn’t going to waste money on fancier chairs.

That argument had become a little heated and before long they had found themselves in each other's arms due to the heat and ferocity of their yelling. Rowan supposed he got his hope after all.

“It’s particularly hard being right all the time though,” she smirks,” I have to remember everything!”

“Let’s stop the small talk,” he interrupts through gritted teeth, and he hates how disappointed her expression is at that. Shuffling through a drawer in his desk he grabs a yellow, weathered notepad that has seen better days, ”Seriously, let’s get started.”

She crosses her arms and huffs, Rowan’s icy mask that he's been preparing for this meeting thaws easily. Just as it had when they had first met years ago. he supposes he’ll always be a sucker for that adorable pout.

She relents, “Fine.”

“I’ll need you to answer questions for me.”

“Fair enough.”

“Under what name would you like to place this order under?”

“Ashryver.” Huh, Rowan would’ve figured she’d have used ‘Galathynius’. A lot must have changed over the course of a year.

“In what season is the wedding taking place?”

“A few months from now, in Spring. April, probably.” Soon. Too soon for Rowan’s heart. But he really gets no say in this.

Rowan scribbles down the information she’s given him thus far diligently. “What’s the color theme?”

“Um,” she starts, scratching the back of her head,”... Blue, I think?”

He starts at that. Again, a lot has changed over the year. Before, he knew Aelin would have been a borderline bridezilla. A big wedding she would have participated in the preparations for everything.

He stands and waits for her to do so as well, before leading her to the back of the greenhouse to take a look at the Springs selections he already has on display, despite it being January.

“Why did you pick me?”, he finds himself asking before immediately regretting it.

“Why do you ask?”, she answers his question with another question, a habit she;’s always had. Something that, before, used to drive him up the wall fiery rage. But now leaves his heart cold in his chest.

Before he can answer her question, she answers his.”It’s just that, flowers are important,” she starts, ”they’re important to you. So I thought of you. I trust your judgment.”

He can’t pinpoint this feeling right now. His heart is dead, has been for a year and yet it's being rapidly in his chest.” Alright, since it’s a spring wedding. I recommend these as they’ll be in season.”

She points to a misplaced Begonia, ”What about these?”

“Ah, those will be pretty pricey since there out of season.” He can’t help but glare at the flowers. Their meaning of misfortune and bad thoughts not lost on him, not an ideal flower for romance.

When he turns to her again, hoping to give her advice, only to find her smiling sweetly at him. He doesn’t deserve that sm-,” I'm proud of you, you know that?”

He doesn’t deserve her praise either. he can’t bring himself to meet her gaze.

Rowan coughs to clear the poignant silence.”Shall we continue looking?”

Aelin looks almost disappointed, before shrugging and says, ”That’s fine, I don’t need to spare an expense. I’ll take the Begonias”

He nods his head solemnly and begins to exchange more information with her. And once again he feels his heartbreaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://ignisol.tumblr.com/post/180665730523/carnations-are-the-loneliest-flowers-of-all)


	3. A Drunken Night

“Rowan...”, Gavriel starts, laying a broad, sinewy hand on Rowans slumped shoulder from where he sits on the bar stool beside him, ”You drank that big Sazerac awfully fast...”

Rowan doesn’t respond, instead choosing to slam his now empty glass down on the greasy bartop, waving the bartender over with a look in order to refill his glass.

“I’m fine, Gavriel,” he responds and he feels the plethora of drinks starting to hit him. The room begins to sway around him as he sits and bright lights reflecting off the colorful bottles start to blur together. he barely hears the clinking of glass when the bartender arrives with his refill.

“I’d very much prefer it if you didn’t get drunk,” the blond man continues, his features blurred and melded together like watercolor, alcohol-color, Rowan’s mind thinks.”It’s just that you haven’t had much to eat today and you’re such a violent drunk.”

“And you don’t know how to handle me on your own? Gavriel, you’re an ex-con”, they all were, it wasn’t that hard to remember that just a few years ago they were caught out in bad deals and the like. Wasn’t hard to remember when they were Maeve’s dogs that handled her dirty business, cleaned it up too.

“I want to not think for once”, Rowan continues at Gavriel’s raised brow and incredulous look,” she’s been coming to the shop almost every day. Shouldn’t she... I don’t know? Spend time with her fiance?”

Her fiance, Rowan can picture it in his head now. A tall, handsome, successful man. Probably a CEO or a lawyer, or perhaps a doctor. A man who listens to everything she says on bated breath because anything that comes from Aelin’s mouth deserves rapt attention. Perhaps a man who doesn’t make rash decisions like breaking up with the strong independent woman he loves because he finds a beautiful ring hidden away inside a velvet-lined box, just small enough to fit in his palm. A man who wouldn’t run off because he was afraid, scared, and unsure of himself.

Whoever he is, Rowan is drunk enough to admit he was jealous; something he had been trying vehemently to deny whilst sober.

He can barely hear Gavriel over the roaring in his ears as he says he’ll be in attendance of the event.

“You’re going!?”, he cries out, slamming that bottom of his drink down as his head turns towards his drinking companion in shock, before getting up and storming off; throwing down a crisp twenty dollar bill to cover the drinks.

“It’s a family event!”, Gavriel calls after him, but his yelling falls on deaf ears as Rowan steps out the front door of the pub and allows the heavy wooden door to slam shut behind him.

He knows that Aelin is Gavriels niece, but does he really have to bring up that he had received an invitation to the main event of what will surely be the worst day of his life?

Rowan is leaning against the apartment doorframe like it’s his third leg. He doesn’t know where he is, he had blacked out mere moments after leaving The White Stag.

He doesn’t want to know why he had decided that getting drunk at Aelin’s favorite pub was a good idea. Especially when he knew it was so close to her place of residence. 

He glances down at the tops of his leather boots, the material most likely ruined after the snow it had trudged through melted and had turned to water. Laying beneath him is a welcome mat with the cheeky praise: IF YOU NEED ME, I STRONGLY ADVISE YOU RECONSIDER.

Drunken vomit would enhance the mat, he thinks.

Nevermind that he’s completely ignoring the grumpy blonde standing before him in favor of glaring at the welcome mat. Her arms crossed, a bare foot tapping impatiently against the hardwood floor of her entryway. Her hair is a mess, of course. Rowan notes that it must be laundry day because she isn’t wearing one of her flimsy, silken nightgowns. Instead, wearing an old raggedy band tee he remembers buying for her on one of their early-relationship dates.

He ignores his own disappointment. 

“Are you going to come in?”, she asks him, eyebrow raised at his drunken state. There was definitely no hiding that he was at the bar a few blocks away and trudged through the heavy snow all the way up to her front door

He points a wobbly finger at her chest. “I bought you that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“And you’re wearing them.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“It’s laundry day, and I wasn’t expecting a drunken guest at-”, she leans back in her entryway and turns her head down a hallway; where he hears the distinct and unmistakable ticking of a clock,”-three o’clock in the morning.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“You’re leaning on my doorframe like it’s your third leg.”

Ah, so she had noticed.

Rowan opens his mouth but before he could say anything, Aelin sighed sadly, turned on her heel until her back was turned to him and walked back inside. The large, wooden front door left ajar, a silent invitation.

He walks in and unceremoniously drops himself onto the couch when Aelin points to it with a long, slender finger. He watches her as she leaves into the kitchen and appears just as fast with a tall glass of water in one hand and something gripped tightly in a fist in the other.

It’s only when she walks up to him and bends over, handing him the glass and unfurls her knuckles that he sees that the unknown object is two white, ovular pills; stark against her tanned, sunkissed skin.

He chose to ignore the pills in favor of drinking his water, the cool liquid soothing against the burning ache in the back of his throat. Aelin places the pills on the table beside the arm of the couch.

“I’ve come to confront-”, a hiccup, great. That’s what he gets for downing the water as fast as he did.

She smiles at his misery, raising a playful eyebrow at him as she continues for him, ”Confront me?”

“Why do you-”, another hiccup,”-come to the shop so often?”

She sighs at that, pursing her pointer and middle finger together against her temple and rubbing it. She walks over to the side of him and plops herself down beside him. Leaning back so that her neck is resting against the back of the couch, she stars up at the ceiling contemplatively.

With another sigh, she continued, ”is it so wrong, that I wanted to see you again?”

“You could have called, you know.”

“Ha!”, she laughed coldly, ”Not with the way you broke up with me.”

He flinches at that. Rowan could still remember their last conversation as a couple. He remembers finding the velvet box hidden away in the back corner of her underwear drawer. He hadn’t meant to find it, he was just trying to organize the chaos and the clutter of their bedroom. He looks up at that and glances at the bedroom door just within eyeshot.

He wonders if he’s here. Sleeping atop the same satin sheets they use to share. He probably is.

“Listen...”, she says, ”if you didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore, that’s fine. But that doesn’t mean we have to stop being friends.”

He nods, mouth suddenly tight and dry despite all the water he’d been drinking. “How about you stay the night?”

“After all, you’re in no shape to take yourself home tonight,” she continues and hands him the previously discarded medicine. he takes it gratefully, already knowing the killer hangover coming in the morning.

Rowan grabs the throw blanket resting on the back of the couch and drapes it over himself. Aelin wanders back to her bedroom, perhaps grateful that despite the nightly intrusion and interruption she can go back to sleep.

He pops the pill into his mouth and washes it down with the remnants of his water. He’s asleep within minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://ignisol.tumblr.com)


	4. A Cruel Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [my tumblr](https://ignisol.tumblr.com/post/182968104718/carnations-are-the-loneliest-flowers-of-all)

Rowan wakes to harsh sunlight streaming through the hanging curtains, staining the room he lies in a vibrant and calming green. His mind and stomach are sludge, and unfortunately, the calm of the colors does nothing to soothe him, as if his mind has actively chosen to only acknowledge the sudden light in his face.

The rest of the water that Aelin had left for him sits exactly where he left it, and he regrets looking directly at it as the light reflects off the delicate glass and into his eyes; only serving to worsen his headache.

He screws his eyes shut and rubs his temple with one hand, his other reaching blindly for the glass. His hands hand on the hardwood of the side table. He pads around until his fingers clank against the glass.

With a sigh, he grabs the glass and lifts it precariously to his lips before leaning his head back and swallowing the rest of the water with massive gulps. He lifts the glass again once it’s depleted of its contents and presses the cool glass to his aching forehead all without opening his eyes again.

He sighs with relief as the glass soothes him. He really should have listened to Gavriel the night previous.

“That feels nice?”

He jolts at Aelin’s question, fingers losing their grip and the water glass begins to topple to the ground. With a speed, he didn’t think he’d been able to muster so earlier in the morning, and with a hangover to boot, is the only thing that saves it and him from a broken, sharp mess on the floor.

He roughly places the glass back own before he can drop it again and lifts his head to level his ex-girlfriend a vicious glare.

Aelin only giggles and sticks her tongue out at him.

“You're certainly up early,” he ignores her previous comment in favor of pointing out what he believes is obvious. He remembers when they had first started living together (and sleeping together) that it had been hell trying to get her up anytime before nine o’clock. By the time she had gotten up, Rowan would’ve been showered, dressed, and already have his attempt at breakfast on the table.

She raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at him, and it’s then that he notices her clean, white button-up, her freshly pressed dress pants and black heels. Her brushed and styled hair. “It’s one o’clock in the afternoon.”

Rowan winces when he realizes he’d slept almost the entirety of the early morning away in her apartment as she had not only dressed and readied herself for work. He wonders if she still had the same unfulfilling office job at the same boring company as before?

“Why’d you let me sleep?”

“You looked so cute sleeping there that I decided it’d have been far too cruel to wake you,” she replied, arms crossed she strode across the living room and towards the kitchenette,” and besides, you looked like shit last night and I thought you could use the rest.”

She was right, of course. Ever since she had waltzed back into his life he hadn’t gotten much in the sleep department. he actively avoided sleep, in fact, as all of his dreams were filled with hopes and memories of a better time only for him to wake empty and cold, reaching across a too big bed for someone that wasn’t there.

Wasn’t coming back.

Rowan gets up from his seat on the luxurious couch, and he’s suddenly grateful for Aelin’s refined tastes. Or more so, his back was thanking her. before, he had wondered what she found so necessary about sleeping on a cloud wrapped in a fur blanket every night. Didn’t understand why she so desperately wanted the Persian rug with the four-inch pile or the velvet-lined canopy of their bed.

Well, at least he didn’t have to deal with horrible back and shoulder pain on top of his hangover (despite it already beginning to fade as they talked, damn endorphins).

He follows her into the kitchen, and it’s when he doesn’t feel the cold tiles on the soles of his does he realize he had fallen asleep without removing his shoes.

“I made you breakfast this morning”, Aelin starts and he's surprised that alone hadn’t woken him, what with the ruckus she usually makes when she tries to cook,” but it’s definitely gotten cold.”

And inedible he thinks to himself but doesn’t say out loud because if he did, he’d only have his own lack of cooking skills thrown back in his face.

“By the way, how’s the order coming along?”

Ah, right. That. He wondered for a moment where her husband-to-be was. Perhaps at work, and Rowan could only assume Aelin was here on her lunch break and was just as shocked at seeing him still asleep on her couch as he was waking up in her apartment.

“Fine, placed the order for the flowers a bit ago and have already started on the arrangements.”

“Should’ve known you get it done quickly, you always were a reliable man.”

Oh, how he wishes that were true. A reliable man wouldn’t have left her cold and alone that night. Would’ve offered more of an explanation other than that he was scared, scared of what happened to Lyria was going to happen again.

He shakes his head. Now wasn’t the time for dwelling on past regrets. He should be grateful that Aelin still wants to be friends, that she appreciates the trust and understanding they had before enough to not let things get awkward between them.

And he did appreciate it. They may no longer be together, and his heart may be burning with jealousy, but Aelin is a wonderful woman and would make a great friend regardless of his own feelings.

“How’s work?”, Rowan asks, in hopes of getting his min off of his own feelings, ”You’re boss still giving you trouble?”

“Not anymore, I quit.”

He opens the fridge and cabinets as she talks and begins taking out an assortment of ingredients. Eggs, bread, cinnamon, syrup, vanilla and all kinds of sugary breakfast foods in preparation of their mutual attempts to cook as she fills him in on how her life has been over the course of the year.

Her asshole of a boss Mr. Hamel had always been a creep, from Rowan new of him by Aelin’s word of mouth and the multiple visits he’d had taken to her work during the midday with takeout in hand only to bear witness to his leering gazes and slimy words directed at Aelin. But apparently, after their relationship had ended, word had quickly spread around her office and it wasn’t long till Mr. Hamel had caught wind of it.

It took every once of willpower Rowan had in his body to refrain from accidentally shattering the ceramic bowel he was whisking his egg mixture. Apparently, her boss had gotten it into his head that Aelin was now “available” to him. As if the only reason she wasn’t interested in him was that she was taken.

Well, Aelin had certainly shown the pervert exactly what kind of woman she was, if the man’s multiple injuries that had landed him in the hospital were any indication.

It wasn’t so bad, she supposed. After all, Aelin had been saving up for years and had quite the cushioned bank account to fall back on. She had always wanted to be an author but could never find the time to actually sit down and write.

Rowan was happy for her. Now that she was finally following her dreams instead of sitting around an letting her life pass her by. Aelin’s wild heart was never meant for day to day life or routines. 

He handed off the mixture to Aelin, who had already prepped the pan with melted butter. She began to take the slices of bread and coat them in the egg, vanilla, and cinnamon mix before throwing the slices onto the pan to fry.

Breakfast really was about the only thing either of them was able to cook. Rowan guessed some things would never change.

Rowan was so preoccupied with his own thoughts, however, that he hadn’t noticed how Aelin’s dominant hand had slowed loosened the grip from around the spatula before letting go entirely.

Slowly, ever so slowly, her shapely hand reached into to what remained of the mixture, soaking her finely groomed fingertips until they were thickly coated and adequately sticky. Rowan’s attention was so preoccupied, in fact, that he didn’t even notice when she pinched her middle finger and thumb together tightly and raised them up till they were right next to his face.

With a devilish smirk that could rival the Cheshire Cat, she pressed her fingers even tighter than before until the slipped apart, the tension between them snapping like a wire, flicking the sticky substance directly into Rowan’s face.

He jumps at the sudden cold, hand raising reflexively to his face to tentatively touch the icky, sticky, egg substance. Slowly, Rowan lifts his hand from his face and stares at the mixture, flakes of cinnamon prevalent. He turns his head to his client beside him, grinning at her like a cat with cream.

“You know this means war, don’t you Aelin?”

Aelin tries to run but Rowan grabs her wrist and yanks her back to him, causing her socked feet to slip and slide across the tile (He supposes she must have discarded her heels sometime during her walk to the kitchen). Using her loss of balance to his advantage, Rowan uses her free hand to slather the sticky mixture across her face and he feels his own grin widen as she screams in indignation.

However, he soon regrets it as he realizes he’s been hanging onto her for too long if the sudden loss of ground beneath his feet is any indication. Rowan begins to scramble for purchase but it’s too late and they both go toppling down.

He groans eyes screwed shut and back aching from the cold, hard ceramic tile. The harsh fluorescent lights burns, illuminating the inside of his eyelids, flooding his vision with a sickly red. Only for the burning to suddenly stop and the light to be blocked by a shape hovering above him, plunging his vision into darkness once again.

Rowan opens his eyes to be greeted with the sight of Aelin staring down at him with turquoise eyes slightly clouded with pain. One of her hands is pressed flat against the cool tile beside his head, the other, he notices as his gaze drops low, is rubbing against her calf. He supposes she must have landed on it badly and looking at the bruise already beginning to darken on her skin makes his own back begin to ache.

But Rowan ignores it in favor returning his gaze to hers, eyes locked together, green and turquoise flowing and mixing together and cool tones that certainly don’t match their heated gazes and warm breaths on one another's faces.

When had they gotten so close? He wonders this as she leans down slowly, eyes never breaking contact until her lips are dangerously close to his own.

Aelin kisses him and before the morality of the situation sets in he’s kissing her back, hands raising up from their limp position at his sides and tangling in her soft, silky, golden hair. He feels her hands press against his chest, gripping his shirt between her fingers. Rowan can taste the strawberry lipgloss he remembers she’s fond of, sweet and sticky on his lips.

It’s when her hands begin to trail down his torso and run their fingers along his midriff does Rowan snap back to his senses. He releases her hair from his fingers in favor of pressing them against her shoulders, roughly shoving her up and off of him.

‘Wha-”, she starts, but he’s scrambling off the floor in a hurry. He up and on his feet before Aelin has even managed to get her bearings.

“I- I have to go.”

Rowan feels her gaze burning into his back from her place on the floor as he rushes out of the apartment as quickly as he can. Burnt french toast fills the air

**Author's Note:**

> [my tumblr](https://ignisol.tumblr.com/post/180663982078/carnations-are-the-loneliest-flowers-of-all)


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